To Watch Over You
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Be careful what you wish for for Christmas. You might just get it.


_I'll be home for Christmas. You can count on me_

Napoleon Solo glared down at his leg as it rested in traction. "Not very likely," he muttered to the overhead speaker. He let his head fall back with a plop. Other agents were running around, making their holiday plans, setting up dates for dining and dancing while the great Napoleon Solo hung out on the sidelines.

Of course, even if he could somehow get home, he doubted he would impress any of his dates with his bruises, bandages, or cast. The last affair had been very nearly his epitaph. For four months, Napoleon had been on his own and it hadn't been working out for him.

Before this, he'd always been able to count on his luck to carry him through. It felt as if his luck had died along with his last partner. Napoleon scrunched his eyes shut, banning all memories of Sig from his head. While they had never been close, either as partners or friends, Napoleon still felt a stab of regret at Sig's death. He'd been careless and had paid the ultimate price for it.

The door opened and a young woman in a crisp nurse's outfit entered. She had blond hair combed into a flip that was so popular these days and for a moment, she almost seemed to shine. Napoleon blinked then realized it was just the light from the hall backlighting her. "How are you feeling, Mr. Solo?"

"Like the bottom of a sewer and twice as pleasant," he grumbled before catching himself. "Sorry. I'm not usually that rude to lovely young ladies. You have the advantage on me, Nurse…?"

She smiled prettily at him. "It is all right. I have read your chart and you have cause for glum thoughts. I am Angela Mihael. I just flew from another branch."

"And I'll bet your arms are killing you," Napoleon said. "Sorry, old joke."

She laughed nonetheless and that made Napoleon smile. "Is your leg giving you any pain?"

"Not really."

"But there is something troubling you?" She took his wrist and settled a finger on a pulse point. She looked up at him briefly before settling her gaze onto her watch.

"How can you tell?"

She released his wrist and jotted something down upon the clipboard she carried. "I was told to look for the man with laughing brown eyes. I have found the man, but his eyes are sad." She took out a thermometer and tucked it under his tongue before he could answer. "It is hard to be in here during the holidays. I take it the music isn't helping?" Napoleon shook his head. "Then I will turn it off." She retrieved her thermometer and made another notation.

"Won't the other patients miss it?"

"You are our only guest at the moment and we hope to keep it that way." She smiled again as she picked up a sheet of paper from Napoleon's tray. "Have you decided what you would like for your Christmas dinner?"

"Wait…"

Her cheeks colored and Angela's mouth dropped open at the rather rude sketches Napoleon had drawn. "Mr. Solo, you have a bit of the devil in you, don't you?"

"So goes the rumor." Napoleon put on his best apologetic smile. "You weren't meant to see those."

"That is as I deduced. I am going to assume that the dinner provided by the Canteen will be adequate since we are very short of naked blondes on a tray."

This time is was Napoleon's turn to blush, just a little. "That would be fine."

"And what about for Christmas? Is there something special that you are asking Santa for this year… providing you aren't on his naughty list?"

Napoleon chuckled. "Luck."

"I understood that Mr. Solo had luck second to none."

"Maybe in the past, but I am finding myself sadly short of it at the moment. If not luck, then how about a guardian angel? With the way I'm going, I could use one."

She laughed and handed him a small white cup with two pills in it. "You take those and I will see what I can do." She watched him swallow the pills and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and back into place. "When you wake up, it will be Christmas morning and I will be here with some holiday joy for you."

"You don't think…?" The sudden peace of the room was abruptly disturbed by a blast of gunfire.

"What?" Angela started and Napoleon grabbed her hand.

"Get behind me," he ordered and slipped a hand under his pillow. "Where's my weapon?"

"Dr. Spooner took it. He was afraid you'd shot yourself."

There was more noise and the door to Napoleon room slammed open and off its hinges. The door came to a rest against the bed and Napoleon used it as a shield.

There was a blur of action as two men grappled with each other, punching and kicking as they fought to gain the advantage. Napoleon felt Angela's hands tighten as she crouched behind him and felt her breath warm against his neck. In any other circumstance, he would have appreciated the feeling. Now he would have paid a king's fortune for the weight of his P-38 in his hand.

The blond seemed to gather the upper hand and dealt a final blow to the second man just as Mr. Waverly, breathless and his pistol out, appeared at the door. There were several other agents behind him.

"Well done, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said, patting the blond on his shoulder as he stood, weaving in place. Waverly looked over at bed and gestured to his agents. They hurriedly removed the door. "Good evening, Mr. Solo."

"Sir. Are you the one to thank for the floor show?" Napoleon took a deep breath and glanced back at Angela. "This is Mr. Waverly, my boss. Sir, this is Angela Mihael."

"Miss." Waverly turned and steadied the blond man. "Mr. Solo, this is your new partner, Illya Kuryakin. Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Solo."

"A pleasure. You are our new Soviet agent."

"I am." Illya wiped some blood from the corner of his mouth. "Is that a problem?"

"Not to my way of thinking, especially since you apparently just saved my life. What… ah… happened, sir?"

"THRUSH once again managed to thwart our defenses and get an agent into the building. He was coming for your head, Mr. Solo, and would have succeeded if it hadn't been for Mr. Kuryakin's keen eye."

"Meaning?"

The blond man approached the bed and held out a hand with skinned knuckles. "I was down in Records this morning and just happened to see that filth's mug shot." He gave the fallen man a nudge with his foot. "It was just luck."

Napoleon shook the hand and smiled at its strength and warmth. "I, for one, am grateful for it."

"Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Kuryakin, and have the doctor look at you." Waverly's remark wasn't a question. "We wouldn't want Mr. Solo's guardian angel taken out his first day on the job."

Napoleon started and both men looked over at him. "What is wrong, Mr. Solo?" Kuryakin's voice has a British accent to it.

"Napoleon, please. You saved my life, the least I can do is insist upon first names."

"Very well, Napoleon. Why did Mr. Waverly's comment distress you?"

"Coincidence." Napoleon tried to suppress a yawn. "I was just telling Nurse Mihael that I needed a guardian angel for Christmas. And here you are."

"And here I will stay," Kuryakin assured him. He pulled up a chair and offered Napoleon a shy smile. "A partner watches out for the other. Rest now. When you wake, we will play some chess. I hear you are a difficult man to beat."

"You have no idea." Napoleon sleepily blinked his eyes and glanced over at the nurse as she worked dabbing a cut on his new partner's temple. Just for a moment, there was something, a flash of light and Napoleon would swear to his dying day that he saw wings.

"Mihael. That is the name of an angel," Kuryakin was saying. "She/he is supposed to be the angel of loyalty and leads us to friends who are trustworthy and loyal."

Napoleon let his eyes close upon that remark. As far as he was concerned, his guardian angel was blond and Soviet and that was very all right with him.


End file.
